Just the Beginning
by WeasleySeeker
Summary: "You remember when he was eleven and you were nine, and you cried and cried because he was going and you thought he'd move on and leave you behind. And although you haven't cried this time, yet, you can't help having the same feeling as you did all those years ago." —for Cate.


**A/N: Written for the lovely Cate (my insides are blue) as part of the Gift-Giving Extravaganza, and also for Tech Discovery in the Camp Potter Challenge on HPFC. Enjoy!**

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You never imagined that there would be a time when the bustle of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters would be an unattractive sight to you, but that time has come. Owls screech, mothers fuss, people crash into each other with their trolleys, and it makes you feel sick. Because for the first time in your life, you don't want to go back to Hogwarts.

It's not because you don't like it there. You like school as much any sixteen-year-old girl can. You find the classes interesting, enjoy the chess and gobstones clubs, and although you were never one for playing Quidditch, it's always fun to watch your cousins. Growing up and hearing your parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles tell their tales of Hogwarts, you yearned to go there as a small child, and even more when Teddy started there.

But that's just the thing: _Teddy_. You don't want to go back to Hogwarts this year, because he won't be there.

You remember when he was eleven and you were nine, and you cried and cried because he was going and you thought he'd move on and leave you behind. And although you haven't cried this time, yet, you can't help having the same feeling as you did all those years ago.

He's the best friend you've ever had. You get on with the other Ravenclaw girls and like them well enough, but Teddy is the only person who really _gets_ you. He knows exactly how to make you laugh, how to respond to your snarky comments. You'll miss his cheeky smile and the way that he knows exactly what to say when you're upset and in need of a friend.

Above all, you'll miss the way your heart skips beats when you're around him; when he looks at you or when his fingers brush against you accidentally. You think you're falling in love with him, but you don't know how to tell him. He's leaving, anyway - what's the point? There's no way he'll be interested in you. Teddy is moving on to bigger and better things. What does a trainee Auror need with a silly little schoolgirl like you?

He's come to see you off, which was nice of him. You put your things on the train and then come back out to say your goodbyes. He waits while your mother plants a kiss on your cheek and your father tells you to be good and not to work too hard, and then he takes your hand (there it is, that fluttery feeling again) and pulls you over to a relatively quiet corner so that you can hear each other speak.

"So, Vic... I guess this is it, then," he says, and hearing that he sounds as sad as you feel gives you a little relief. "I'll miss you."

"Will you really, though?" you demand, more abruptly than you meant to.

Teddy looks a little hurt. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you won't meet all your fancy Auror mates and then forget about me?"

"Victoire Weasley," he says, taking hold of both of your hands, "I could never forget about you."

"Prove it." The challenge comes from your mouth automatically, and you don't really know what you want him to say in response. But it's fine. He always knows what to say.

In fact, he doesn't say anything. He does the one thing you never expected him to do: he kisses you.

It's a shock, to start with, but then your heart feels like it's going to implode from the intensity and the elation you're feeling. You kissed a boy a few times in your third year, just to see what it was like, but you ended it because it wasn't Teddy. But this _is_ Teddy, and it feels fantastic. It's sweet and it's bitter; it's your first kiss with him, but it's a goodbye kiss, too, and even the butterflies in your stomach from the sensation of his lips on yours, _finally_, aren't enough to make you forget that. But maybe, you think as you wrap your arms around his neck, maybe that doesn't matter. Maybe you mean as much to him as he does to you. Maybe this is just the beginning.

"Oi!"

The two of you break apart, flustered, as you remember that there are other people on the platform.

"What _are_ you doing?" your cousin James demands, sounding both confused and mildly disgusted. You roll your eyes; trust him to ruin your special moment. But it's still not enough to dissipate the joy you're feeling.

"What do you think we're doing?" Teddy retorts, looking equally exasperated. "Go away, you idiot. I'm seeing off my girlfriend."

You beam at the word and pull him in for another kiss, only vaguely aware of a gobsmacked James wandering off back towards his parents. You focus on Teddy now, memorising the feel of him so that you can convince yourself later that this isn't just a dream.

Far too soon, he pulls away. "You'd better get on the train," he says, and you wish that you could argue, but you're one of the last ones left on the platform. "Believe me now?"

"What?"

"Do you believe that I won't forget you?" he repeats, smirking.

"Maybe," you reply shyly.

He chuckles. "Take care. I wouldn't mind some more of that at Christmas."

"Me neither." You grin at him, and he grins right back. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch your mother gesticulating towards the train, and you realise that you'd probably better go before the train leaves without you. "Bye!" you say, giving him one last quick peck on the lips, and you rush up to the train just before the guard starts to close all of the doors.

"I'll write!" Teddy calls through the open window.

"Me too!" you promise, and then the whistle is blown and the train starts to pull away, enveloping your knowingly grinning parents and your blue-haired boyfriend in a cloud of steam. All you can do is watch and wave until they become a blur in the distance and then out of sight as the train carries you far away.

You're looking forward to Christmas more than ever before.


End file.
